


Once, Like a Spark

by SlowQuotesQuill



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowQuotesQuill/pseuds/SlowQuotesQuill
Summary: "What would you feel like if you fell in love at first sight, Kageyama? Would your heart pound like silly? Would you dive into the crowd and ask them out on the spot? Or… would you be content to let the moment pass, unrequited, for all eternity?""I'll give you a simple answer, dumbass. What if you justdon'twrite me into a romance story, instead?"19-year-old Kageyama Tobio, the official setter for the Japanese volleyball team in the Olympics, has been the idol of literature major Hinata Shouyou for the longest time—and now, he was also the unwitting muse for the three-act short story that Hinata was supposed to turn in for finals.Now, if only he was personally acquainted with the setter, he'd probably have a much more solid grasp of his characterization—because the other Kageyama Tobio who was living in his room (and furiously playingStar Ocean 2on Hinata's PlayStation right now) seems wildly out of whack… even for someone who was just a figment of his imagination (?).AU in three acts.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Once, Like a Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Kageyama is slightly OOC, though for a plot-driven reason.

If Hinata Shouyou sits back at his study desk and concentrates deeply, he could actually make out the dark figure of Kageyama Tobio on his futon in the corner of the room in the corner of his eye, flipping through his sixth volume of _HeroAca_ in a row with an almost sleepy expression in his dark eyes. Since his (unwelcome _and_ welcome) intrusion into Hinata's life a week ago, he always does this little ritual of looking for Kageyama out of the corner of his eye, when everyone else was sleeping in the house and Natsu would not barge in to ask him some inane thing that he could barely explain to himself, let alone to an inquisitive thirteen-year-old. 

"Hey, Kageyama." 

"Mm?" Kageyama yawns lazily, dabs at the corners of his eyes for moisture. He looks mightily bored for someone who was just reading an action manga—which offended Hinata, as the series was one of his favorites. "Before you ask me another one of those annoying questions, though, let me ask you—do you have DVDs of the anime for this?" He holds up the book he was reading, and Hinata stares squarely onto the illustrations of Deku and Iida and Stain on the cover before he spares a look for the sharp, dark, beautiful face glaring at him from behind it. 

"No, but if I promise to buy you one, will you answer me?" 

Both of them engage each other in a staring contest, dark eyes on dark eyes, and when Kageyama finally huffs and looks away, Hinata feels an odd sense of victory. "Fine. Get me the anime as soon as possible," Kageyama mutters irritably, and Hinata mentally calculates how much he'd have to save from his part-time job before he can actually afford it. "What's your question this time?" Kageyama adds, curious despite himself, and Hinata looks back at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen, the document he was supposed to have been writing still awfully, hopelessly blank. 

"Well… aside from volleyball, what else do you like to do in your spare time?" 

Kageyama snorts, throws the book ungratefully on the bed, rolls over on his back on the futon. "Seriously?" he finally sputters, as if trying to choke back a laugh. "You've been staring into your computer for the better part of an hour and that's all you came up with?" 

"Oh, shut up!" Pinkfaced, Hinata chucks the mousepad at him, which of course Kageyama dodges with lightning speed. The mousepad bounces harmlessly off the wall and onto the covers of the futon. "Besides, I have other questions, but that'll depend on what you tell me, first."

Kageyama sighs heavily, still not convinced, rolls back over on his tummy, and grabs the book that he had dropped—only to flip through the pages, trying to resume reading from where he left off. 

"Oi, quit ignoring me, Kageyama." 

"Shut up, dumbass. I'm answering your question. What is it that I'm doing right now?" 

"So, er…" Hinata wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. "Kageyama Tobio… likes reading manga. Is that it?" 

"Sure," was the muffled reply. Kageyama's mouth was pressed into Hinata's pillow as he read the manga on his stomach, and it made Hinata's face turn even pinker. "Also…" 

"Also…?" 

"He likes it even better when an annoying redheaded shrimp with a massive writer's block doesn't. Interrupt. His. Reading. Time." With every word, he was pointedly flipping through the manga one page at a time, and Hinata bristled. 

"Stop talking back to me!" he hissed. "Why are you like this? And besides!" He threw a handful of pencils at Kageyama, who swore loudly and covered his face with the book to defend himself. "Why the hell would a famous volleyball player like Kageyama Tobio do nothing but lie in my bed and read my manga all day? That's just dumb! _You_ should be out in my yard practicing tosses—or whatever it is that national players do in their free time!" 

" _You_ tell _me_ ," Kageyama grumbles. "Just a week ago, I was peacefully minding my business, when… _poof_ . I'm suddenly in your room without anything to do. Also," he rolls his eyes, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world, "How the fuck can I go out of this room if _you're_ stuck in here?" 

"I—! I—" Hinata stuttered, and glanced around. "Wait. So you can possibly, like, follow me around if I will it?" 

"I dunno," Kageyama said, so disinterestedly that Hinata felt like throwing his hands up in a gesture of defeat. This guy was impossible. "How would I know? Try daydreaming about me in class or something—that'd be _hilarious_." 

"I—I don't daydream about you!" 

"Right. And that's why I'm here reading manga in your room right now, cuz you're totally not thinking of me." 

"I can't help it! My story is about _you_!" Hinata groaned. "This is getting us nowhere." He stared at the still-blank Word document opened on his laptop, finally gave up the hope of being able to write a decent outline tonight, and turned it off. "—Hey, Kageyama. Quit reading manga and turn on the TV." 

"Don't order me around," Kageyama mumbled, and true to his word, stayed motionless on the futon, staring into the book determinedly. 

Sighing loudly, Hinata dropped from his chair to the floor and crawled to the small TV set he kept in his room, flicking it on with a thumb. When he finally inserted the CD that he had been looking for into the player and hit play, he could feel Kageyama's curious eyes following his movements with slight satisfaction. 

"Is that another one of those games?" he asked, trying and failing not to sound interested. 

"Yep. The one against Brazil. You guys ultimately lost, but you were so… _amazing_ … here." And despite themselves, the two boys huddle together before the TV, eyes wide and shining, and Hinata greedily devours every detail of the blue and red court. Beside him, Kageyama Tobio drops the manga and watches his own game with pensive eyes, his eyes sometimes flicking to Hinata (perhaps), and watching the other Kageyama, the volleyball player Kageyama, Hinata's idol Kageyama, move fluidly on the other side of the glass, even more vibrant than in life. 

* * *

Hinata still hasn't really figured out when it was exactly that he had become infatuated with the volleyball player that he was now so determined to write about, even if it was in a work of fiction, but he thinks it was probably even before Kageyama actually became internationally famous; they shared the same age and they came from the same area, and thus it was unavoidable for him to see Kageyama and his team play during inter-highs. He must have been picked up by the V.League shortly after graduating from high school, however, because there was no way in hell that he can imagine someone even as phenomenal as Kageyama juggling the monumental role of being the official setter for the national team with the oppressing mundanity of a college life. 

Hinata, for the most part, craved more experience before he actually set sights to lofty dreams like that—which was probably why he opted to join a volleyball team in Sendai's Kansei University instead. It was closer to home compared to his other choices, he actually passed the exam, and all he had to do to stay in school was to play a lot of good volleyball for the university and keep his marks above water level. —He felt it was somewhat of a better deal than most. The fact that he was slotted into a liberal arts program was inconsequential to him; he really just wanted a chance to play more. 

—And then, of course, because nothing was that easy in life, his Fiction professor conceived the brilliant idea of giving them this impossible task of outlining, drafting, and submitting a finished short story in place of their final exams. 

"Are you quite sure you're fine, Hinata?" Yamaguchi Tadashi, an engineering student who was also on Kansei's volleyball team with him, had asked him worriedly one time during practice after the accursed professor's dreadful pronouncement had been passed. When Hinata, who was eager for some sympathy, finally poured out his woes ("I haven't actually written anything in my life other than those dastardly school essays!"), Yamaguchi nodded sagely and held up a finger. 

"Oh, what if you write about someone that you looked up to?" he said, beaming. "That would make it more like an essay, and then probably you could write it, right? You just need to finish one draft, then maybe I can critique it for you or something." 

"Ooh, thanks, Yamaguchi!" Hinata quickly jumped up, then deflated just as quickly. "But then who…?" 

—But when Hinata's eyes alighted on the jersey of another freshman on their team, he finally understood. 

"OH!" 

"Er, what?" Yamaguchi scratched his head, kindly smile frozen on his face. 

"Number 20!" Hinata was hollering, and without much thinking he started running to the exit of the gym amid the yelling of their coach. "I can write about him, Yamaguchi! Thank you!"

"Who?" 

"20!" Hinata's heels were almost out the door, when—

"HINATA! OI!" the coach was screaming. "Get your ass back here, or _I'll kick you out from next week's practice match myself!_ " 

Hinata allowed himself to be wrestled back into afternoon practice that day, though afterwards, he was strangely aching to finally go home and think about the idea that had struck him. It was weird to think that an idea other than volleyball could consume him so completely, but then, he realized, as he finally made it to his house, this idea wasn't exactly… _divorced_ from volleyball, after all. 

The hard part after getting some inspiration, of course, was to think about what comes next. 

He flipped through his old issues of _Volleyball Monthly_ , all of them looking rather the worse for wear with how much he had spent poring over them in the past few years. The magazine that he had started his collection with was still in his treasure box, of course, with "Kageyama Tobio" being nothing more than a name and a portrait in a sea of other strong players during the time. There were the usual, of course—the under-19 national representative, Ushijima, was of course a favorite of the readers during the three years he had been in high school—but the elegant wiriness amd relative youth of 15-year-old Kageyama compared to the other players in the same issue had intrigued him at the time. See, here was a boy who was his age (and even _younger_ than him by months, according to the small personal info box beside his picture), who got his name printed on a magazine… all because he was just that _good_. 

Kageyama's name popped up many times in the magazine after that, sometimes in newspapers or the local news, even, and Hinata had hungrily collected all of those pieces of him, as though trying to rebuild the person in the photographs and interviews and articles, word by word by pixel by pixel—a face to look up to in the darkness of his bedroom, when he was too tired after practice to talk, when he has to remind himself why he so desperately chased after the faded scowl on that face. It was funny to realize that they had never even actually met each other, Hinata sometimes muses to himself when staring at his poster of the current Japanese volleyball team, seeing an older and taller Kageyama standing in the lineup, face shadowed with an intensity that causes electricity to shoot straight up his spine every single time—because he almost felt like he had grown up _with_ this person. 

And now, perhaps, his collection of fannish pursuits would serve him in one of his hardest challenges, too. That single thought consumed him as he dug into his treasure box, the scent of old paper heavy in his nostrils, desperate to piece together an emotion that he can somehow translate into paper. 

He was probably in the middle of rewatching the recording of Kageyama's final high school match when he finally dropped off to sleep. It had been a rough day, after all, what with the ironic 20-lap penalty he had to run around school after the coach thought that Hinata had been intending to skip practice (well, technically, he _had_ been, but thankfully Tsukishima—Yamaguchi's best friend, an annoying sociology major—had managed to drag him back by the scruff of his neck before he actually got past the doorway) as well as consuming thoughts of the Fiction requirement still fresh in his mind. He most probably was, because when he jerked awake in the middle of the night, the TV was still on, although the screen was blank, and its ghostly light filtered on Hinata's tired features. 

At first he couldn't even figure out what _did_ wake him up. Hinata had always been sort of a light sleeper, but he couldn't recall any loud noise or disturbance that could have caused him to wake in such a startled fashion. He turned his head to look at the open window, watching the moonlight filter in his room, and blearily made out what seemed to be a crow perched in the tree outside. Then he blinked, and it was gone—

"Oi." 

The sudden word said into his ear, even though it was spoken in a hush, sounded like a gunshot to Hinata's poor, highstrung nerves—

"…!" 

A strong hand was pushing itself up against his mouth before he could even scream, and Hinata had no choice but to look up, terrified, into the shadowy face of his attacker. They struggled for a bit on the tatami—the man had a surprisingly strong grip, or it was just Hinata's limbs being a little too feeble—but when Hinata finally let his arms and legs drop on the floor, exhausted beyond all belief, the other man in the room addressed him again. 

"Oi. What is this? Where am I?" 

The sentence, spoken now in a relatively more normal volume, perked Hinata's ears with its recognizable timbre, and he dared to look up again. 

"Who the hell are _you_? Oi. Shorty."

Dark eyes and hair, a perpetual scowl on his face, and the towering height of a national player—

"K-Kageyama, T-Tobio?" he croaked. 

"Sure," the specter before him said, and when Hinata tried to raise himself up on his arms to get a better look, he accidentally slipped, hit his head on the edge of the TV stand, and conked out. 

* * *

"Hey, Kageyama." 

Again, Hinata finds himself in the same situation; hunched before his laptop, fruitlessly trying to drum up the inspiration that just wouldn't appear. On his desk, there was an old magazine opened to a gorgeous two-page photo spread of Kageyama Tobio's winning dink against Italy, his beautiful flight perfectly preserved forever on paper; even though Japan lost pretty badly in the Olympics later on during the semifinals, Kageyama and his team still returned home as heroes. 

As if in direct contrast to the graceful Kageyama on the magazine, however, Hinata turns his glare at the Kageyama before his TV, who was now watching anime avidly with glittering eyes. Hinata had caved in and bought him the first two seasons of _HeroAca_ , which meant he had to subsist on a lunch of bread and milk for what seemed like years. 

"Oi, Kageyama. Stop watching that and pay attention to me." 

"It's getting to the good part," Kageyama mutters, and Hinata privately thinks that a comment like that was rich, from someone who yawned incessantly at the source material. Kageyama probably was the type of person who preferred to watch moving things than read about them, though, he realizes with a flash of inspiration, and he writes it in the special notebook that he now keeps tucked in his drawer—unmarked, unremarkable, except that it was filled with random observations about his strange roommate. 

He had long determined that there was no way in hell that this Kageyama was the real one—he wasn't even sure if this Kageyama was human at all, as this one had an annoying habit of popping up in his room whenever he pleased. He was afraid to ask, though this Kageyama also seemed vaguely aware that he wasn't supposed to exist in the first place ("I'm just a figment of your imagination, huh?" he says wryly when Hinata finally wakes up the morning after that disastrous first meeting). However, since the real Kageyama Tobio had just finished a triumphant season in the V.League weeks ago and was currently out from the limelight, at times Hinata could fool himself into thinking that the Kageyama with him right now _was_ the real one. 

—However, it was definitely embarrassing to think that his adoration for Kageyama Tobio was apparently _so_ strong that it produced a phenomenon like this. 

Grudgingly, he joins Kageyama in front of the TV, resigned that he might not get an answer up till the episode ends, and then notices something and points at the screen. "Hey, I never really noticed it before, but that guy kinda sounds like you." 

"Huh? Must be your imagination..." Kageyama squints at the screen. Hinata resists the urge to slap the back of his head (even in his ethereal state, Kageyama can still probably kill him) and stares down at the notebook still in his hands. 

"What would you feel like if you fell in love at first sight, Kageyama?" 

A poignant pause, and Hinata looks up to see Kageyama's startlingly deep eyes staring back at him, a half-surprised look on his face. Swallowing, he resumes his line of questioning. 

"Would your heart pound like silly? Would you dive into the crowd and ask them out on the spot? Or… would you be content to let the moment pass, unrequited, for all eternity?" 

Kageyama leniently lets his face retain the half-surprise before his features slowly rearrange into his usual ferocious expression. "I'll give you a simple answer, dumbass. What if you just _don't_ write me into a romance story, instead?" 

"I wasn't going to, stupid!" 

"You totally were! What was that line of questioning for, then?" With a huff, Kageyama tore his glare from Hinata's face and went back to his anime. "Besides," he muttered, "how the hell would I know? I've never fallen in love before. Whether 'at first sight' or otherwise." 

"Really?" Hinata was furiously scribbling into his notebook the entire time, but looked up at this sudden chink in what seemed to be impenetrable armor just weeks ago. "Kageyama Tobio, star player, has never had a girlfriend before?" 

"None of your business." 

Kageyama, as though irritated, switches off the TV and gets up to stretch his arms over his head. Hinata watches the hem of his long-sleeved shirt ride up to expose toned muscle beneath, and he feels his breath catch. 

"I wonder," he says, suddenly, "why are you always in the comfiest clothes if you were just a figment of my imagination?" 

"Huh?" Kageyama looks down at himself, gray shirt and navy blue sweats, then back at Hinata, confusion radiating from his eyes. Hinata leans forward on his knees and puffs his cheeks. 

"I mean, you're certainly my idol"—his cheeks flamed while admitting this, and Kageyama instantly adopted a look of such utter smugness that Hinata wished he could just drop dead on the spot—"so shouldn't you be in something that's more… inspiring? Heroic? Idealized? I don't know." 

"Heroic? What the fuck are you blabbing on about? I'm just someone who plays volleyball for a living." 

"No! I mean, I've always pictured our first meeting with you in your… national team jersey, or something. That awesome red one." 

"Hmm. I see." To Hinata's horror, Kageyama glances nonchalantly at the Japanese national team poster tacked on the wall. However, he doesn't really comment about it—he just scrunches his face, as if he didn't like the sound of having to think too deeply about something. 

"Besides—you're not just some volleyball player to me. You inspired me." 

To Hinata's surprise, he had actually spoken those last sentences out loud. He clapped his hand over his mouth, a groan of embarrassment escaping through his fingers, while Kageyama seemed thoughtful all of a sudden, rather than gloating like he'd usually be. 

"What time is it?" he says, instead of making fun of him. Hinata wasn't about to question Kageyama's unexpected benevolence, so he quickly answers. 

"Er, a little past eleven…?" 

"Huh. Still quite early. Speaking of playing…" Kageyama grabs the volleyball abandoned on the corner of the room and holds it out to Hinata, grinning evilly. "Should we test to see if I really _can_ go out of this room? Practice some tosses, like the real me would have done, as you said." 

"I didn't claim to know what the real Kageyama does—" Hinata was mumbling, but Kageyama had already led him outside the room, his bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. 

As it turns out, this Kageyama really _could_ stay materialized even in the freezing air outdoors. However, outside, he seemed a little frailer, even perhaps younger, than he did in the darkness of Hinata's room. "I'll give you a toss," he calls, when they reach the yard where Hinata has set up a small net, and with a thrill that throws caution to the wind, Hinata eagerly nods and prepares himself. 

They end up doing quite a number of tosses and spikes, actually, and in the end Kageyama has to stop for some reason. "I think I have to go," he says, cryptically, and before Hinata could even stop him, he drops the ball, heads back into the darkness of the house, and was out of sight in a moment. 

"Hey!" Hinata called, but softly, as to not wake the entire neighborhood up. "Kageyama! Hey!" 

—When Hinata reenters his room, however, he finds that Kageyama has indeed disappeared. 

* * *

Despite himself, Hinata finds that he could start writing now.

Kageyama still showed up in the evenings, like always. He never really offered a proper explanation about why he disappeared so abruptly the other night—"I probably know less about this whole thing than you do"—but he seemed a lot quieter than before, and perhaps even more inclined to offer tossing practice to Hinata. "I'm bored," he would say, as though that cleared everything up, and Hinata, who was still rather weak against Kageyama's enormous influence over almost half of his childhood, can never say no to an opportunity to spike tosses from the legendary setter himself. Even if he was just "a figment of his imagination," as Kageyama was quick to remind him every so often. 

Hinata privately thought that figments of the imagination, especially if they were in the shape of his idol Kageyama Tobio, shouldn't be this eager to grab him by the top of the head when annoyed or to race him to the yard when feeling competitive or to exhibit an extreme potty-mouth when infuriated, but he had long learned to keep most of those observations to himself. 

Even though Kageyama had seemed to grow liking practicing with Hinata, perhaps he at least respected that the early evening should be devoted to Hinata's work first and foremost, and during those times he lapsed into his former bad habits at the start—he found that Hinata kept his old PlaySute in working condition and had promptly started playing _Star Ocean_ on it—and kept his rude outbursts at a minimum. Consequently, Hinata's room during those times of the day were filled with nothing but the rhythmic clacking of Hinata's keyboard and sounds of a game running in the background, turned down low so that no one else in the house gets disturbed. 

Yamaguchi, who alone knew that Hinata was doing the weird piece on Kageyama Tobio for a Fiction class, regularly asked him about his progress, so during today's practice session he asks after the story as usual. Hinata was about to give him an offhanded answer, something along the lines of "It's getting there" or something equally vague, when he caught something tall and gray in the corner of his eye—and he _choked_. 

"Er, Hinata? You fine?" Yamaguchi asks not with a little concern, as Hinata turns an alarming shade of purple. "Hey, wait, let me grab you some water!" 

He dashes off, and Hinata sprints to the unsuspecting Kageyama, who was wandering by the right side of the net and looking around the Kansei volleyball gym with marked interest. Funnily enough, he has materialized again in sleepwear (he was padding around in his bare feet, though he didn't seem really bothered by it), and somehow, the second-year setter standing near him wasn't really seeing anything extraordinary—although Hinata guesses that he should thank his lucky stars for that. 

"Oi! Kageyama you idiot!" he furiously stage-whispers when he gets in punching range, but Kageyama deftly dodges his fist with a look of outrage and a counterattack that Hinata unfortunately wasn't able to avoid. 

"Is that how you treat your precious idol, dumbass?"—grabbing him by his head. 

"Shut the hell up, you fake! You're more like his ghost or something! I know— I'm going to call you Niseyama from now on! Niseyama!" 

" _What?!_ You—!" 

However, before they even had a chance to continue their argument, Yamaguchi comes running up towards them with a water bottle in hand. Hinata holds his breath, but the innocent Yamaguchi doesn't seem to notice Kageyama either. 

"Here you go, Hinata!" 

"Thanks, Yamaguchi." 

He slurps his water, carefully looking back and forth at Yamaguchi and Kageyama; the former was open and unsuspecting, the latter dark and glaring directly at his friend. "Thanks again," he repeats when he finishes, and hands back the bottle. 

"Anytime. Also, yeah—we might wanna step away from the net, the second- and third-years are gonna start practicing right now, I think—" 

"Mm." 

Hinata meekly follows Yamaguchi's advice, but when he looks back, he can see Kageyama still frozen in his spot, though his interest in Yamaguchi has evidently faded; he has turned back to watch the practice match now unfolding on the court with deep concentration. 

His eyes are unreadable, and his aura seems even scarier than before. 

Hinata watches him for a long moment, Yamaguchi prattling on to Tsukishima beside him about something that he can't quite catch, and it wasn't until Tsukishima mentions a familar name does he actually pay attention back to the both of them with a slightly panicked expression. 

"—Yeah, that's Kageyama Tobio, alright." 

"What, no—!" Hinata spluttered, but then realized that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were both peering into the latter's phone screen and not staring at the Kageyama now interestedly following the ball with his sharp eyes as it went into play. 

"Definitely is him, though," Yamaguchi says, pointing at the photo on his screen, and when Hinata realizes what was actually happening, he deflates a little. 

"Oh." 

"Thought you had a thing for him," Tsukishima snidely comments. "Didn't you say during our first day that you'd like to play against him one day?" 

"That's not a 'thing'!" 

"Yes it is." 

"Anyway," Yamaguchi hastily intervenes, probably because the coach was already glaring daggers at them from the bench, "it says here in the news that Kageyama Tobio is going to take a long break from—" and what he is still about to say gets broken off, since Hinata has already snatched the phone from his hands and was scowling through the article greedily. 

"Kageyama Tobio?" he musters through his teeth, "is taking a break? From _volleyball_?" And immediately his eyes shoot up at the other Kageyama, the Kageyama who was currently residing in his room and now here, dreamlike, watching a game with an unfurrowed brow as if he has no worries in the world. His Kageyama. 

"'For personal reasons,' it says," Yamaguchi points out, then frowns. "Doesn't say what those reasons are, though." 

All the way home from practice, Hinata was fearfully sullen. So much like smoke in the wind, Kageyama had disappeared shortly after the team got dismissed by the coach, so he wasn't able to grill him about anything at all. The news consumed him like a flame, eating him from the inside out, and when he entered his room and started typing furiously on his laptop to clear away the smoldering in his heart, there was only the rhythmic breathing of a Kageyama who was reading more manga in his futon as the music to the oppressive silence. 

—For some reason, however, Hinata dared not ask him any questions that evening. 


End file.
